notes: My AO3 readers came through, so here's the next chapter!
(And thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter. It made my really sucky weekend just a little better 3)
CHAPTER 14
With their plan in place, all Luke and Leia could do was wait—wait and endure. Luke continued to work on the farm, biding his time and making plans, while Leia continued to suffer at the hands of Vrosha, Pale Eyes, and those Pale Eyes brought with him.
"I don't know how much more I can bear," Leia told Luke a few days before their thirteenth birthday.
"I know," Luke said, curling into her mind and cradling her thoughts with his. The pain of Pale Eyes raping her was fresh in Leia's mind and body; he had been there less than an hour before, bringing with him two friends. They had all fucked Leia at the same time, leaving her feeling hollow and raw and bruised. "I'm coming for you soon."
The plan was for Luke to leave just after their thirteenth birthday—the day after, in fact. He had already arranged for Biggs to fly him out to Anchorhead two hours before dawn, when both his aunt and uncle would be asleep, and from there would get a transport to Mos Eisley.
"Are you sure about this?" Biggs asked. He had pressured Luke into confessing his plan—though not the reason for his plan.
"I'm sure," said Luke. "I can't stay on this ball of sand any longer. I can't."
"Just a few more years and you'll be old enough to join the Academy like me," said Biggs. He was taking the entrance exam in a month and a half, and then would hopefully be on his way to Carida or Corellia the week after.
"I can't wait that long," said Luke. "Besides, I need a job to pay for entrance exam."
"That doesn't mean you have to leave Tatooine," said Biggs. "There are other ways to earn money right here."
Luke shook his head. "No," he said. "If I'm going to get into Coruscant, I have to leave Tatooine. I need a better education than Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen can give me, and I won't get that here. Besides, I need to live my own life. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru won't let me leave when I'm 16, I'm sure of it. And I have to—I have to—get into Coruscant."
"I still don't understand why Coruscant is so important to you," said Biggs with a sigh. "But if you're set on this, I'll help you."
On the other end of their connection, Leia was silent. They had argued many times about Luke coming to rescue her. Leia remained adamant that she was not worth the risk. Luke disagreed. It always ended the same way, with Leia conceding to Luke that it was his life, his choice—on good days Luke was able to draw the confession from Leia that she did want to be saved—and Luke stating that he was going to go through with their plan to rescue her.
At the same time, however, Luke began to grow anxious.
"What if I can't find anyone who will take me on?" he asked Leia one night as they lay in bed.
Leia, who was half asleep, said, "Then we figure something else out."
"I'm glad you're willing to help me figure this out," he said, "even if you don't want me to come save you."
Leia made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat that Luke could feel as much as hear, resting in her thoughts as he was. "You've made it pretty clear that this is what you want," she said at last. "I want you to be happy—and if that means helping you rescue me, then that's what it means."
Luke smiled. "Well, thank you."
They turned thirteen on a hot and dry day in the middle of Tatooine's summer. Luke woke earlier than normal, and went out to watch the suns rise over the horizon. Leia sat with him, firmly ensconced in his mind, staring out through his eyes as the skies bled from midnight blue to rose to pale cerulean.
When at last Luke stood, stiff-limbed and chilled from the dawn air, he went in to breakfast, which his aunt had specially prepared for him for his birthday: griddlecakes with fresh strawberries from the greenhouse.
"Happy birthday, dear," she said when Luke sat down at the table, coming around the edge of it to press a kiss to the side of his head.
"Thanks, Aunt Beru," Luke said with a smile, and reaching around he hugged her tightly.
Uncle Owen, walking into the kitchen from the 'fresher, grunted and added, "Happy birthday."
Luke grinned. "Thanks, Uncle Owen."
Work in the fields that day was hot and miserable. By the time they were done, Luke was sunburned and drenched with sweat, ready to only shower and eat dinner and fall into bed. He couldn't do that, though, as his aunt and uncle had other ideas.
"We're going into Anchorhead for dinner tonight," Uncle Owen announced on the ride back to the house.
"You don't have to—"
"Nonsense," said Uncle Owen. "13 is a big birthday. You're no longer a child, but a young man. We want to celebrate it as such."
"Okay," said Luke. "Well, thank you." He didn't know what else to say.
After Luke and Uncle Owen had a chance to shower and freshen up, the two of them plus Aunt Beru climbed into the landspeeder and drove to Anchorhead. Uncle Owen pulled the speeder into the town's parking lot and shut off the engines, then turned to Luke.
"Tonight is for you," he said. "I know there's only one diner, so there's not really an option for food, but if you want to do something else afterwards, tell us and we'll try to make it happen. Okay?"
Luke grinned. "Okay."
They piled out of the speeder and walked to the diner, the wind pulling at their clothes and hair. The bell tinkled when they opened the door, and the rich, aromatic smell of frying food washed over Luke, making his mouth water.
Across their bond, Luke felt Leia's stomach rumble.
"You hungry?" Luke asked.
"Starving," Leia replied. "They haven't fed me yet today."
Luke fought to keep from frowning. "Don't they feed you twice a day?"
"Usually," was Leia's reply. "Apparently not today."
A droid seated them and took their drink orders, then putzed away. Luke was strongly reminded of the last time he had been in the diner, with Obi-Wan and Talia after the Tuskens. An unexpected pang arced through his chest; he missed Talia, and wondered how she had been.
Then a new thought, inspired by missing Talia, burgeoned in his mind: how much was he going to miss Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru when he left? How painful would that parting be?
Would he ever even see them again? Luke wondered. He and Leia would have to go on the run, as he had promised her they would. They wouldn't be able to return to Tatooine—at least not at first. Would he ever return at all?
It would be a terrible, aching loss, Luke realized. His aunt and uncle had been a constant in his life since his birth; for all that they weren't his parents, they had been as mother and father to him. He hadn't been without at least one of them—ever.
A lump rose in his throat. Suddenly he was glad he hadn't just gone to bed—was glad that his aunt and uncle had insisted that they celebrate. This would give him one last evening with them before he left.
"Are you okay?" Leia asked, feeling Luke's distress.
"Yeah," Luke said. "Just...sad." He knew she could sense his sadness, just as he could sense her worry. "I just kind of realized how much I'm going to miss when I leave Tatooine."
"You don't have to, you know. Leave Tatooine, I mean," Leia said.
Luke sighed internally. "Yes, I do," he told Leia. "I made a promise. And more than that, I want to leave. I want to come find you and rescue you, regardless of what that means."
Leia was silent for a long moment before finally saying softly, "Okay."
Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, and Lue chatted while they ate, about the farm and about Biggs leaving for the Academy—Luke had confessed to his aunt, who had told his uncle, about Biggs's plan. They also talked about the plan to get new siding for the greenhouse, discussing the installation for half an hour, while Luke cut into his bantha steak and his aunt and uncle chewed on their burgers.
On the other side of their bond, Luke could feel Leia's stomach grumble again and her mouth water.
"Sorry," he said.
"Don't be," Leia replied. "I can taste the steak, and it's delicious."
When he wasn't talking to Leia, Luke brooded while they talked, trying to treasure every moment, every word, every syllable and consonant. He was quieter than normal, letting his aunt and, to his surprise, his uncle do most of the talking. They seemed happy to do so, and chatted away amicably, filling the silence between the three of them.
At last, however, dinner ended, Luke scooping up the last of his mashed tubers and swallowing the last small bite of his steak. He pushed his plate away and sat back into his chair, folding his hands over his bulging stomach. His aunt and uncle looked at him from across the table, a question in their gazes: What now?
Luke thought. An idea struck.
"Mac's is still open, isn't it?" he asked.
Mac's sold fireworks of all shapes and sizes and colors. The majority of his sales went to bored local teenagers, who spent what little money they earned at his store, shooting them off in the desert where no one cared. Luke himself had spent money at his store—and had spent many hours perusing the aisles, dreaming of setting off some of the larger artifacts.
His aunt and uncle shared a look. His aunt smiled. "I believe so," she said, turning back to Luke and nodding.
"We should set off some fireworks," said Luke. "A way to say goodbye to…" Luke caught himself. "Well, to my childhood I guess. And to welcome in a new era."
His uncle nodded. "Fitting," he said.
They rose, Uncle Owen leaving a tip on the table, and left the diner. The desert air was cold against Luke's face as he stepped out onto the street. He turned, shoving his hands into his pants pockets, and waited for his aunt and uncle to join him. They did so a moment later, and then together the three of them turned and walked along the sandy sidewalk to Mac's, located on the corner two streets down.
A chime sounded as Luke opened the door to Mac's. Mac himself stood behind the counter arrayed along the wall of windows to the left. Long aisles crammed full of explosives ran the full length of the store, and more hung suspended from thin wires and hooks in the ceiling.
"Hey," said Mac, lifting a hand in greeting.
Uncle Owen approached Luke from behind. "Here," he said gruffly when Luke turned, and held out a hand. Luke reached out, palm up, to receive what Uncle Owen was giving him—and felt the cold metal of credit chips fall into his fingers.
"It's not much," said Uncle Owen, "but it'll buy a few things."
Luke grinned. "Will you help me choose?" he asked.
Uncle Owen grunted, and then nodded. "If you want me to."
Luke's grin widened. "I do."
Together he and Uncle Owen meandered up and down the long aisles, picking up heavy fireworks and putting them down again, inspecting their color and hue and promised explosion. Luke, aided by Leia, selected a long, thin, blue one with a pointed tip; Uncle Owen chose a rounded one with a curled tail arched over the top. Each of them came with a plasti tube launcher and a fuse.
"We have enough for one more," said Uncle Owen, after dumping a handful of small poppers into the basket carrying their purchases.
"We should let Aunt Beru choose," said Luke.
Uncle Owen nodded. "I think she'd like that."
"Did you used to go shoot off firecrackers?" Luke asked suddenly, turning to his uncle as they walked toward the counter where Aunt Beru was standing and talking to Mac.
Uncle Owen, to Luke's surprise, laughed. "Oh yes," he said. "In fact, your aunt and I stole a whole trunk full of firecrackers from Mac once."
Luke gaped. "What?" he finally managed to say, though it came out half a squeak.
"It was your aunt's idea," said Uncle Owen. "She was quite the wild child in her day."
Luke shook his head. "No way," he said.
Uncle Owen merely smiled, then said, "I hope Mac has forgiven us."
Mac was an elderly man, with frizzing white hair and a beard that nearly reached to his belt. He was plump, with round cheeks and sparkling eyes, and had a laugh that sounded as bubbly as his personality. It was not hard to imagine him selling firecrackers to a younger Owen and Beru; it was, however, difficult for Luke to imagine his aunt—his steady, kind, dependable aunt—orchestrating a heist against him.
'Your aunt settled down once Shmi came into the picture," Uncle Owen said, answering Luke's unspoken question. "Though that was also when she and I started getting serious. I'm not sure I'll ever know which it was that caused her to lose her wild streak."
They reached the counter, and Beru and Mac. Mac was laughing, his cheeks red with delight. "We were just reminiscing about the time you two stole three hundred credits worth of fireworks from me," Mac told Uncle Owen. Mac then turned to Luke, winked, and added, "Your aunt was quite the firecracker herself, back in her day."
"So I've been told," said Luke dryly. He looked at his aunt, who was blushing.
"I was quite the fool back in my day," Aunt Beru said.
There was a beat of silence, then Mac said, "Are you ready to check out? I assume you are paying for these ones?"
Laughter. Then Luke turned to Aunt Beru and said, "We wanted you to choose the last firework."
"Me?" said Aunt Beru. She hesitated, saw Luke's expression, and then softened. "Okay," she said. "Let's take a look."
Luke trailed after her, carrying the basket, as Aunt Beru perused the shelves. At last she chose a green-bottled firework with fins sweeping out from the sides. She placed it primly in the basket, then directed Luke back to the counter and Mac. As Luke placed the basket next to the register, Uncle Owen appeared at his side and dropped a lighter in with the fireworks.
He rang them up, and Luke handed over the credits. Then they took their bags of fireworks—the three large ones Luke, Uncle Owen, and Aunt Beru had chosen; ten small poppers that spat sparks and smoke when thrown at the ground; and three sparkling wands—and left the shop after saying farewell to Mac. Luke smiled at him one last time, trying to ignore the pang of sudden sadness; he would never again see Mac, he realized as he waved goodbye. He would never again buy fireworks, would never again drive out to the middle of the desert with Biggs, Camie, Tank, and Fixer to set them off.
They walked back to the parking lot and their speeder, and climbed in, Luke cradling the fireworks in his lap.
"Where to?" Uncle Owen asked.
"Let's just drive home and stop somewhere along the way," Luke suggested.
Uncle Owen grunted and started up the speeder.
They drove for fifteen minutes before Uncle Owen abruptly swerved off of the road. He swept around a dune that rose drifting and tall, and then threw the speeder into park. "This good?" he asked.
"Yeah," said Luke. He got out of the speeder, still holding the fireworks, and then climbed to the top of the dune. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru followed him.
"What now?" Aunt Beru asked.
Luke grinned. "Now we set off some fireworks."
They selected Luke's choice first. They set up the launcher, gathered the rest of the fireworks into a bag that Luke handed to his aunt, and then lit the fuse with the lighter Uncle Owen had bought from Mac. Then they raced down the side of the dune, and waited with bated breath.
It did not disappoint. The firework shot a hundred feet into the air before exploding into a glorious conflagration of greens and blues, a thousand sparks spinning into the air in a spinning cloud, the heart of the firework a blossoming rose of cerulean and emerald.
Luke, Uncle Owen, and Aunt Beru all cheered at the sight of it, and Luke clapped his hands twice with delight. On the other side of their bond, Leia cheered silently along with them, delighted.
"That was great!" he exclaimed, once the last of the sparks had fallen into darkness.
"It was," said Uncle Owen with uncharacteristic delight in his voice. He grinned as he looked at Luke. "Shall we?" he asked, and gestured toward the dune.
"It's been years since I've seen any fireworks," she told Luke as he trudged up the incline. "They used to set them off on my birthday every year—a whole show. Mamá and Papá would take me out onto a balcony, and we'd watch them together with the people down below."
"That's so cool," said Luke.
They climbed back to the crest, and set up Uncle Owen's firework. They lit the fuse, dashed down the dune, and watched as the firework exploded into the shape of a mighty dragon. Its wings opened in a riot of reds and golds, and its mouth opened to spew forth sparks and trailing streamers of fire. Then it vanished, disintegrating into nothing.
Aunt Beru's firework they saved for last. Next they lit the sparkling wands, which they danced and laughed with, lighting the moonlit night with streams of red and green and yellow. Sparks fell to the sand where they burned for a few seconds before dying, and for a few moments it looked as if the desert floor was alight with luminescent blossoms.
The poppers they threw at the ground, watching and hearing them pop with satisfaction. There was more laughter, and a competition to see who could make the loudest pop—for the sound was directly proportionate to the velocity at which the popper hit the ground. Aunt Beru, to Luke's surprise, won.
"I used to play this game with my friends," Aunt Beru explained. "It's all about the flick of the wrist." She showed Luke what she meant, and when Luke threw his next-to-last popper, he was thrilled to hear a pop louder than he had yet achieved.
Last they set off Aunt Beru's firework. It erupted into a massive umbrella of green fire, spiraling in long tendrils high over their heads. They cheered again, Leia joining in. Then there was darkness and silence, lit only by the moons and the stars and the arm of the galaxy.
"Let's go home," said Aunt Beru.
Luke and Uncle Owen both nodded. They gathered up the debris and stuffed it back into the fireworks bag, now empty, then made their way back to the parked speeder. Luke climbed in, suddenly tired, and leaned against the armrest. In seconds he was asleep.
"Hello, Luke."
Luke opened his eyes to the river running through the ravine, the moons and stars, and Shmi.
"Grandma," he breathed, and threw himself into her arms.
She hugged him for a long moment, then drew away. "I come to you on the eve of your journey," she said, looking down at him and meeting his eyes solemnly. "I come to wish you well, and to give you this word of warning: Stay true to yourself, and to Leia. It is only together that you will succeed. Forget her, and all will come to ruin."
"I won't forget her," Luke said, somewhat offended. "How could I?"
Shmi only smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of Luke's head. "Don't forget her," she said again, and then Luke woke to a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.
"We're home," said Aunt Beru.
Luke climbed out of the speeder and went straight to his room. He barely had time to pull off his boots, shirt, and pants, set his chrono, and fall into bed, before he was asleep again.
~oOo~
Luke's chrono went off at three in the morning.
He sat up in bed and quickly silenced it, afraid it would wake his aunt and uncle. Adrenaline and anxiety burning a hole through his stomach, he rose and dressed, pulled the bag he had packed two days before out from under his bed, and then laced on his boots.
Opening his door, Luke tip-toed out of his bedroom and down the hall, careful not to make any sound. If his aunt or uncle woke now, everything would be lost.
He stopped in the kitchen, pulled a piece of flimsy off of the notepad stuck to the conservator—his aunt used them to write lists on—and grabbed a pen from the cup sitting on the counter. He placed his bag carefully on the ground, sat down at the table, and wrote.
Dear Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen,
I'm leaving Tatooine. I can't explain why right now—maybe I won't ever be able to—but please know that if it was not important, I wouldn't be leaving. Not like this, anyway. I wish I could say goodbye to you face-to-face, could give you a hug and a kiss and say farewell. This will have to do, though.
So goodbye. I love you both. I hope to come back someday, and give you the proper farewell you both deserve. You've done so much for me.
I love you.
Love,
Luke
He put down the pen, read over the note once more to make certain it said everything he wanted to say, then rose. He checked his wrist chrono. Biggs should be here any second.
Picking up his back, Luke left the kitchen and crossed the courtyard to the steps leading up to the gatehouse. The air was cold, the stars glittering like crystals of ice high above, the moonlight silver and white.
Luke hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. He turned back one last time, looking at the greenhouse, the door to the kitchen, the generator. Memories washed over him: playing in the courtyard as a kid, helping his uncle fix the generator, making cookies in the kitchen with his aunt. Tears pricked the corners of Luke's eyes, and he swallowed thickly—then turned away, squared his shoulders, and marched up the steps.
Biggs was waiting for him.
Luke slung his bag in first, then climbed into the second seat of Biggs's skyhopper.
"Morning," Biggs said, firing up the thrusters.
"Hey," Luke said, pulling on the headset.
They pulled away from the homestead. The urge to look back one last time nearly overwhelmed Luke—but he knew that, if he did, he might ask Biggs to stop the skyhopper, turn around, and bring him back to the farm.
I promised Leia, Luke thought. And I want to do this.
Luke slid seamlessly into Leia's mind with that thought. She was sleeping peacefully, for once not plagued by nightmares. Luke was glad of that. He poured warmth and comfort into her, and he felt her respond by sinking even deeper into sleep. Luke smiled.
They arrived in Anchorhead half an hour later. Luke climbed out of the skyhopper, pulling his bag out with him, and shouldered it.
"You're sure I can't convince you to stay?" Biggs asked one last time, leaning over the edge of the 'hopper.
Luke shook his head.
Biggs sighed. "Good luck, then," he said. "Maybe we'll see each other again someday."
Luke grinned mirthlessly. "Maybe," he said, though he did not believe it.
Biggs nodded once. "Alright then," he said. "This is goodbye then, I guess."
"I guess," said Luke around a lump in his throat.
Biggs reached out a hand, and Luke took it. They shook, and then Biggs straightened in his seat. "Later, Skywalker," he said, and the skyhopper hatch hissed shut. Biggs fired the engines, and then pulled away, leaving Luke standing alone in the night.
The transport to Mos Eisley left at 0600. Luke found the transport station. It was little more than a bench under an awning; he sat down, shoving his bag beneath the bench, and waited. He tried not to think about all that he was leaving behind—tried to think only of what lay ahead.
Even that was distressing, though. What if he couldn't find someone to take him on? What if he wasn't able to get into the Academy? What if he got into the Academy, but not Coruscant? What would he do then?
Luke swallowed and forced down his anxieties. One thing at a time—right now he had to make it to Mos Eisley.
The first sun was painting the sky pink when the transport—a long, broad vehicle that hummed with many repulsors, a door that cranked open, and tinted windows—pulled into the station. The door folded open, revealing a stout, blue Twi'lek dressed in khaki.
Luke rose, grabbed his back, and crossed to the steps leading up into the transport. He went up them slowly, telling himself one, final time, This is it, your last chance to turn back. You can still do it—you can still go home. After this, though, it'll be too late.
He handed the Twi'lek the transport fee of ten credits—and then found a seat halfway down the transport, swallowing his heart back down into his chest. I've made my choice, he told himself, over and over again. I've made my choice…
The transport waited for a few minutes, then the door closed and it pulled away.
Luke looked around himself. He was one of only three passengers: a Devaronian, an Aqualish, and another human. All of them looked as wan and bleary-eyed as Luke, and none of them seemed inclined to talk. Luke was just fine with that.
He leaned his head against a window and shut his eyes. He opened them again almost immediately, the anxiety churning in his belly not allowing him to relax, afraid that he would miss his stop.
Instead he stared out of the window at the passing scenery. It wasn't much to look at: mostly dunes and, eventually, cracked and crumbling canyons. Luke took it all in with eyes that barely saw, and with a mind that was far, far away with a girl still sleeping in a cell.
It was midday by the time the transport pulled into Mos Eisley. It had stopped four more times, admitting six new passengers who had all taken up seats far from each other. Now all of them, Luke included, rose and crept down the aisle and off of the transport.
"Thanks," Luke mumbled to the driver, who looked surprised.
"Sure, kid," he said, then frowned. He grabbed Luke's arm. "Just how old are you?" he asked, halting Luke before he could escape down the steps.
"16," Luke said. He and Leia had agreed that he should pretend he was older than he was. This would help him get a job—they hoped—and would help to keep suspicion down.
"You sure about that?" the Twi'lek asked.
"Yeah, why?" Luke asked.
"Huh," the Twi'lek grunted. "Your parents know where you are?"
"I don't have any parents," said Luke. "Not anymore."
The Twi'lek's face softened. "Sorry, kid," he said, and let Luke go. "You be careful here," he warned.
"I will be," said Luke, surprised but touched by the Twi'lek's apparent concern.
He descended the stairs and stepped out onto the street. The air blasted hot and dry against his face, and for a second it was hard to breathe. Then Luke's lungs adjusted, and he was able to breathe normally. His eyes took longer to adjust, but eventually they did too, and he was able to look around himself without squinting.
He was just down the street from an open-air market. Vendors squawked and hawked their wares, shouting over one another in an attempt to draw attention to their products. Crowds milled around, looking at what the stalls had to offer, buying and haggling with the owners. Children ran underfoot with dogs and rats, sneaking hands into pockets and purses. Luke clutched his bag tighter.
Luke took a deep breath.
"Where to now?" he asked Leia, turning in a slow circle.
She had woken up an hour into the transport ride. They had talked since then, mulling over their plans, discussing possible snags, working through potential issues. They had decided that the best place for Luke to look for work was in tapcafes and cantinas. Even if no one was hiring there, they hoped that the proprietors of the establishments might have some idea of who was looking for help.
"There'" Leia said, mentally pointing to a building sitting on the corner of the marketplace. It was squat and short, with a long wall of windows and a striped awning hanging over the door. Mullivan's Cantina was written in bold lettering on the door.
Luke started forward, throwing his bag over his shoulder.
This is it, he told himself. I'm doing this. I'm really doing this.
The cantina was cool and dimly lit. A circular bar took up the center of the floor, which Luke reached by descending a short, curved ramp. Stools stood in arcs around the bar, and boothes lined the walls. Only a dozen or so patrons filled the room, most of them clustered around the bar drinking, only a few of them talking.
Luke straightened his shoulders, trying to make himself look as tall and old as he could, and crossed over to a stool. He perched himself on it, then flagged down the barkeep.
"Hi," he said, and offered a smile. "My name is Luke Skywalker. I was wondering if you knew of any ships that were hiring crew."
The barkeep—a dark-haired, pale-skinned human whose face was red with sunburn—frowned. "And just how old are you?" he asked, looking Luke up and down.
"16," Luke replied evenly.
"Have any experience working on ships?"
"Well, no," Luke admitted. "But I'm a quick learner."
The barkeep shrugged. "You can ask around if you want, but I don't know of any captain who'll be willing to hire a greenie like you."
"Okay," Luke said, and he rose from his stool.
"What now?" Luke asked Leia.
"Now we ask around," Leia replied.
They did.
Luke approached the nearest person, a grey-skinned Lutrillian. A Wookiee was sitting beside him, though the two of them did not seem to be speaking. "Hi," Luke said, smiling again and sitting down beside him. "My name is Luke Skywalker. I was wondering if you work on a ship?"
The Lutrillian grunted and said, in a thick accent, "I do. What of it?"
"I'm looking for work," said Luke, "and I was wondering if your ship was hiring."
"No," the Lutrillian said brusquely.
"Okay," said Luke, standing. "Thanks."
Luke turned around, searching for his next target. He found it in a female Twi'lek who was nursing a cup of pale blue alcohol.
"Hi," Luke said again, and introduced himself. "I'm looking for work. Maybe you could help me out?"
"How much experience do you have with ships?" the Twi'lek asked.
Luke's stomach clenched. "None," he told her, and then hurried on in a rush, "but I have experience with vaporators and speeders, and I'm a really quick learner."
The Twi'lek snorted. "Sorry, kid," she said. "We don't take on greenies."
He had only heard the word "greenie" twice, but already Luke was beginning to hate it with a sour taste in his mouth.
"Please," he said. "Just give me a shot. You won't regret it."
The Twi'lek shook her head. "I said no, kid, and I meant it. Now scram."
One by one, Luke asked the rest of the patrons in the cantina if they worked on a ship, and if they did, if they were looking to hire. Only two more seemed even interested in the idea—but as soon as they found out that he had no experience, they quickly turned a deaf ear on his pleas.
Feeling defeated, but no less determined, Luke left the cantina and went in search of another one.
He found it just three buildings down the street in the opposite direction from the market. There were nearly three dozen people in the new one, and Luke lifted his chin, put on his most winning smile, and went to ask each of them for work.
It was the same as in the first cantina. Anyone who seemed interested at first turned cold and unhearing once they found out that he was a "greenie". "Sorry, kid," they said time and time again. "We're not looking to hire a greenie."
Luke left and tried a third tapcafe. The results were the same.
"What if I can't find anyone to hire me?" Luke asked Leia, now not only feeling defeated but also less determined. He was seated in a booth at the sixth tapcafe he had tried, elbows resting on the sticky table, face buried in his hands.
"Then we'll figure something else out," Leia said, sounding more confident than either of them felt. "This isn't the end. You haven't even spent a whole day looking yet. Someone is sure to take you on, greenie and all."
"Maybe," Luke moaned. "But what if I don't?"
"Then we'll figure something else out," Leia said again.
"Like what?"
"I don't know yet," said Leia. "But we will. We have t—"
She was cut off by a man sliding into the booth across from Luke. He was tall but thin, with hazel eyes and brown hair that flopped over his forehead.
"You should be more careful," the man said. His voice was warm, if thin, and he spoke with a drawl. At Luke's confused expression, he added, "A young, pretty boy like you needs to watch out in Hutt territory—especially one being so vocal about looking for work."
Luke blushed. "I can take care of myself," he said.
"I'm sure you can," said the man." He hesitated, then said, "My first mate said you're looking for work on a ship."
"Yeah," said Luke, perking up. "Why? Are you hiring?"
"Depends," said the man slowly. He eyed Luke. "Why should I hire you?"
"I'm a great mechanic," Luke said all in a rush, frantic to seize this chance handed to him. "I've been fixing vaporators and landspeeders since I was a kid, as well as working on droids. I've been flying skyhoppers since I was eight, and I can learn to pilot just about anything. Plus I'm a fast learner, and a hard worker—I worked on a moisture farm all my life—and I can do just about anything if I set my mind to it."
"Hm," the man said. "And you think I should hire you, even though you're a greenie?"
Luke nodded. "I do," he said.
"Well kid, you're in luck," said the man. "I'm looking for someone to help me on my next supply run. We're under a timetable, and my first mate and I won't be able to load everything on our own. So we're looking for another hand. We'll see how you do on this mission. Consider it a trial run, or an interview. Depending on how you do, we may hire you on—or we may drop you off at the nearest spaceport. Sound fair?"
"What's my cut?" Luke asked.
The man grinned. "10%."
Luke tried not to grimace. He had asked because he knew he needed to ask, but he had no idea if 10% was an acceptable amount or not.
"Take it," advised Leia. "You can always barter for more later."
A new thought came to Luke. "What if this man works for the Hutts and is going to enslave me?"
"Ask?"
Luke eyed the man warily. "You aren't going to turn me in to a slaver, are you?" he asked.
The man laughed. He had a nice laugh, Luke decided.
"Kid, my first mate is a Wookiee. We're decidedly anti-slavery. Are you in or not?"
Luke took a deep breath, and then stuck out his hand. "I'm in," he said.
The man grinned and shook Luke's hand. "Good. Now what's your name, kid?"
"Luke. Luke Skywalker."
"Nice to meet you, Luke," said the man. "My name's Han. Han Solo."
END PART 2
end notes: Thus concludes Part 2! What did you all think? Please let me know!
